


Four times Spock questions his commanding officer's logic (and one time he doesn't)

by celebros



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celebros/pseuds/celebros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His other self had recommended an increased confidence in long odds.  He cannot help but believe that this was the precise situation to which the elder Spock had been referring.</p><p>(Written pre-STID.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four times Spock questions his commanding officer's logic (and one time he doesn't)

one.

 

“I'm not sure I'll ever figure out what goes on in his head,” the Captain says, breaking the companionable silence, leaning farther over the railing with a casual human ease, his eyes focused intently on the grassy commons through the large windows.

 

“Sir?” Spock says, and feels his eyebrow twitch.

 

“Cadet Kirk,” Pike answers, his expression a strange mingling of a grimace and a smirk.

 

“Ah,” Spock says delicately, placing his own hands rather woodenly on the rail.  After a moment of consideration, he decides it would be imprudent to give his opinion on the matter.

 

“What do you think of him?” Pike asks.

 

“My exposure to Cadet Kirk is limited,” Spock answers, and Pike answers his quirked eyebrow like for like.  He continues, “My _direct_ exposure, if I may clarify.  I have heard other cadets speak of him, and I confess that I was intrigued enough by his unusual performance at his second attempt at the _Kobayashi Maru_ simulation to have looked up his files.”

 

Pike snorts, and then says quietly, “Commander Spock, if I didn't know better, I'd say you just evaded my question.”

 

“My knowledge of the cadet has been insignificant to form a judgement.”

 

“I'm not asking for you to pronounce his sentence, Spock.  Impressions.”

 

Spock inhales.  “I do not understand your preoccupation with Kirk,” he admits.  “His intelligence does not seem to compensate for his undesirable qualities.  His reputation with the student body is ... less than commendable.”

 

“And when you say _the student body_ , you mean Cadet Uhura,” Pike observes with a touch of amusement.  Spock very carefully does not flush green.  “His methods can be... _bizarrely_ illogical, I'll give you that much.  But they _work_ , Spock.  And it's not just his brilliance we're seeing – you saw the Kobayashi Maru – both times – you're not unfamiliar with his displays of absurd dedication, adaptability, innovative thought.  He has the ability to overcome his shortcomings – we've seen it happen, when he takes on an awareness of responsibility.”

 

“Were you questioning me about a cadet in engineering track,” Spock says, “or perhaps even in sciences, I might have more confidence.  In communications, however, my tendency to question his activities would certainly overwhelm my curiosity at his potential.  As a command track pupil, I find him blatantly unacceptable.”

 

“I'm not suggesting we hand him a starship straight out of the Academy,” Pike says, now openly chuckling.  “But there's a side of Kirk you haven't seen yet, I'm sure of it.  And it's a side you will see, one day, if you're fortunate.  Commander, it's no secret that the cadets I choose end up at the top of their professions.  The washout rate of the kids I choose compares to the overall dropout rate of Starfleet Academy at a ratio of one to five.  Kirk is not going to be my exception.”

 

Spock is silent for a moment, his dark eyes settled impassively on the man who is meant to become his primary commanding officer.  Pike is sure he sees the twitch of an eyebrow, but can't tell yet what that means.

 

“Captain,” he said, “I believe the assumption inherent in that statement presents a logical fallacy.  I believe the phrase Terran philosophers prefer is –”

 

“Correlation does not equal causation?” Pike interrupts, and now his wry amusement has faded; he is crisp and quiet and tired.  “I know.  I should've known better than to try using those statistics on you.”

 

Spock examines him.  “You have 'used' faulty tools of persuasion on others,” he says with a fractional tilt of his head.

 

“The Admiralty shares your lack of enthusiasm for Jim Kirk's future,” Pike says, “but not your keen nose for bullshit.”

 

This time, the Captain is certain that the angle of Spock's eyebrow means surprise.

 

“You're not the only one who can cleverly evade direct questions, Spock.”

 

“Certainly not,” Spock answers, and a shade of Pike's wry smirk returns to his lips.  He leans away from the railing, casting a final look to the retreating figures in red on the green below, and turns away.  Spock inhales sharply and says, “Captain,” and Pike turns again, attentive, eyebrows high.  He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, but finally all he can say is, “I wish to understand your – confidence.”

 

They stare at one another for a moment, and Spock feels inordinately apprehensive.  “Intuition,” Pike says finally, very softly.  “Faith.  Don't tell me it's illogical – I know.”  He turns again, strolling coolly away down the corridor, towards the stairs which will take him to the green, where a few students remain, dashing across the lawn towards one of the classroom buildings, soon to be late for their lessons.

 

“I'm only human,” Pike says without turning around, and it feels like a parting shot.

 

 

two.

 

The Captain strolls into the transporter room and takes his place on the fifth pad without a word.  His expression is sober, his demeanor matching the tension saturating the room, but he seems unaware of the fact that his presence has heightened it.  It's a moment before he senses the nervous glances the techs are shooting him, and he looks around at the landing party.

 

“Gentlemen, as you were,” he says, and Spock suspects that the others do not sense the undercurrent of unease in Jim Kirk's confident voice.

 

“Captain,” he says, “may I speak to you in private?”

 

“The team is scheduled to beam at 1900 hours – in six minutes, sir,” a young female tech says.  Kirk meets her eyes steadily for a moment, and then motions Spock towards the door with two fingers.  It slides shut behind them and Kirk turns to him, blue eyes glinting sharply.

 

“What now,” he says tersely, not even quite a question.

 

“I am well aware that you have the right to alter the personnel assigned to away missions at any time, Captain, but it seems highly inadvisable for you personally to enter a potential combat situation.”

 

“ _Potential?_ ” Kirk scoffs.  “Spock, you heard them.  They're aiming for some serious violence, and I am _not_ –”

 

“Doctor McCoy has informed us both expressly that he will be highly agitated if you require his services again within the next –”

 

“Bones knows full well I'm not going to shirk my responsibilities –”

 

“In this instance, sir, I believe your _responsibility_ calls for you to remain with the _Enterprise_.  In the eventuality that this team is unable to negotiate a cease-fire, I believe the next avenue of action would call for a Captain on the Bridge, and –”

 

“Then you stay,” Kirk says, meeting his eyes with ferocious intensity.  “Spock, I need your support, now more than ever.  I need you to trust that I know what I'm doing.  I trust you – hell, you're the _only_ one I trust to know what to do in a situation like this.”

 

“Captain, I disagree!”  Spock is aware that his voice has risen, that he is clenching his fists, that his breaths are not meditative and slow any longer, but for the first time Jim's expression of aggressive certainty seems to waver.  “If you trust me to work in your stead – then you must entrust this mission to me.”  He pauses to reign in his voice.  “Trust me to protect our crew.  As I will trust you to assure our return to the ship – no matter what events may occur on the other side.”

 

A muscle jumps in Jim's jaw.  He blinks, several times, rapidly.  His mouth is set in a tight line, and for a moment Spock is certain that he has failed, but then suddenly Jim's hand is on his shoulder, and he nods once.  They are both momentarily wordless.

 

“I do,” the Captain says, his voice tight.

 

“Thank you, Jim,” Spock says, and turns back into the room and onto his pad.  The Captain slips in behind him and meets the eyes of each of the members of the away team, and Spock looks at them, too: they are young, so young, but their eyes are strong and proud as Kirk nods to each.

 

“Energize,” Kirk says, and as the room dissolves around Spock, it seems his Captain's face is the last to go.

 

 

 

 

three.

 

Spock orders the helmsman to engage at Warp Four, and after five tense minutes sitting in the Captain's chair, gives Nyota the conn.  The turbolift to Sickbay seems to take an unusually long time, and when it opens on the deck he is surprised to find himself face-to-face with Jim Kirk, who slips into the lift and shuts the door before Spock can protest.  He leans across Spock's still body to stop the lift, and then straightens.

 

“We're at warp,” he says flatly.

 

“Yes,” Spock answers, certain that Jim is picking up on his confusion, his surprise.  The Captain stares at the control panel for a long moment, and then speaks quietly.

 

“I want to take the ship back there and kill them,” he says.  “I want you to beam me down to the planet with a phaser rifle and let me shoot every last one of them.”  His eyes meet Spock's, and they are bitter cold and brutally honest.

 

“You are also aware that I would never stand by complicitly and watch you to destroy your career,” Spock says, but he knows how feeble his words seem.  Next to what was almost lost today, he knows Jim's career is not anywhere on his mind – and sure enough, Jim closes the space between them so that their heads are inches apart and hisses in his face.

  
“I am fucking aware that I don't give a _shit_ about my career, okay? I felt for Sulu's pulse and _I couldn't find one_ , and I couldn't - and Bones – Bones – if Chapel hadn't been there –” He's choking. He rocks back on his heels, suddenly aware that he's practically spitting in his First Officer's face. “They would both be _dead_.”

 

“But they are not,” Spock reasoned, aware that his voice is still too cool, too stiff, that Jim will not be able to listen to him speak impassively of this.  He tries to find the right tone, the right words – Jim wants him to talk him out of this, he is certain of it – because the lift is stopped, after all; if this was not the case, they would be undertaking this verbal sparring on the Bridge.  “Jim,” he says, still searching.  “They are safe now,” he says.  “You made them safe.”  And Kirk's body goes slack.

 

“No,” he says, shaking his head slowly.  “I couldn't even do that – that was you.  I've been completely helpless for the last seventeen hours, and you _know_ it –”  His fist thumps against Spock's chest, as if he's still trying to restart a heart with his bare hands.  “So don't even _pretend_ like I'm the one this time – like I was –”  He gasps, shudders, chokes again.  “ _Spock_ ,” he says, weakly, and quite suddenly, painfully, Spock is aware that he does not possess the tools to fix this alone.

 

“I was en route to Sickbay,” he says instead.  “Do you wish to accompany me?”

 

“I should,” Kirk mumbles, not meeting his eyes.  “The Bridge...”

 

“Nyota has the conn, and it will be approximately seven hours until we reach Starbase 19,” Spock says.  “I am certain that Doctor McCoy will wish to see you unscathed, when he regains consciousness.”

 

 

 

 

four.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jim says, his head shifting against Spock's leg, and, “ _Oh_ ,” and then, “Spock?”

 

“Jim, please endeavor not to move,” Spock says quietly.  “You have been unconscious for sixty-two minutes, and our situation is more dire than it was previously.  Not least due to the volume of blood you have lost.”

 

“ _Enterprise_?” he asks, his eyes fluttering closed.

 

“The crew are making all attempts to penetrate the energy barrier.  In the meantime, I have undertaken the task of constructing a disruptor beam, which necessitated deconstructing our remaining communicator, as well as the medical tricorder.  Therefore I would not recommend you injure yourself further, as I am unable to ascertain the severity of your condition.”

 

“You hurt?”

 

“My injuries are negligible.  Needless to say, I have not been incapacitated.”

 

“C'n you...get out?”

 

Spock lifts an eyebrow, but the Captain's eyes are still closed.  “The disruptor must be initiated from within the energy field,” he says.  “You are incapable of designing such an instrument in your present state, and even were the predators not in close proximity, unable to retreat.”

 

“S'not what I asked, Spock.”

 

He inhales deeply, allowing himself several seconds of meditation before responding.  “I am aware of the implication inherent in your question, and I respectfully refuse to entertain the notion.”

 

“That's not very log –”

 

“Please do not imply that I have not carefully and logically considered every aspect of our present situation.  I am capable of determining what consequences I am willing to accept.”

  
“Spock,” Jim says, lifting up a blood-slick arm and grasping blindly upwards until his fingers hit Spock's cheek.  He starts to tilt his head back, his hair brushing near Spock's navel, and groans.  “Fuck.  Get out.  'S an order.  Chekov and Scotty... 'll get down the barrier faster with you.”  He opens his eyes, gaining momentum.  “If they can't get it wi' your help in time to get me out, then at least... they'd have you.”

 

He wants to snap, “No!” and leave it at that, but instead he sets aside the tools and takes Jim's face between his hands.  Jim seems to simultaneously tense and relax, letting his arm drop back to his chest as Spock leans – carefully – forward until his head is above Jim's and he is suddenly aware how very near they are to mind-meld.  He says quietly, “I believe you underestimate my mechanical skills.  There is a very good chance I will be able to successfully facilitate a rescue with more expediency than would be possible from outside the region.  Furthermore, our uncertainty as to the current diameter of the field would make my means of escape questionable.”  He reassures himself that the variance of definition in Standard measures of _good_ allow him to say this honestly.

 

His other self had recommended an increased confidence in long odds.  He cannot help but believe that this was the precise situation to which the elder Spock had been referring.

 

 

 

 

and one.

 

Jim's hands tighten reflexively on Spock's biceps, and then one wraps around his neck, an angular elbow pressing against his spine, insistently, _closer_ , as his fingers tangle in Spock's hair, tugging painfully, _closer_.  Their mouths open and they both gasp wildly into the kiss, and Spock is aware that his own arms are no longer still and shocked at his side, but wrapped around Jim's waist, one hand against the bare skin of his back where the tunic has ridden up, also trying impossibly to erase the unmeasurable frictional space between their bodies.  Spock angles his face back to open a space, their foreheads pressed together so hard he suspects they will find complementary contusions later, Jim's eyes bright and intense on his.

 

“Why?” he is asking raggedly, and for a moment he has no idea if this question is emotional or rational, and therefore can't seem to quash it.  He doesn't know if he's asking _why me_ or _why now_ or _why would you confuse me this way, Jim Kirk, you insufferable man_ , but Jim is already leaning back in to bite Spock's lower lip, and he must have remembered _something_ either from a lecture on cultural taboos or a year of pretending not to watch Nyota and Spock's casual touches, because the hand on his bicep drops back to capture Spock's fingers with his own, pressing them tighter against his back.

 

Spock thinks that he cries out, low and guttural, but Jim's mouth is against his, his tongue flitting furtively between his lips with a subtlety he would never have guessed the young man possessed, and he's not sure he's actually capable of producing sound in such a state.  The Captain releases his lips for a moment and passes hard, sloppy kisses in a line down to his collarbone, suckling against the very soft skin where neck meets shoulder, and when he returns to his full height he breathes into Spock's mouth, “It's _logical_.”

 

He's certain he makes a sound this time, an insistent whimper against Jim's wicked grin, because the Captain's hands have moved again and he is so nearly undone.  Still, his eyebrow lifts as it has every time Jim Kirk has made such a statement, and he is sure that even such a slight movement is perceptible to the man against whose face his features are pressed.  His knees buckle slightly, but Jim is holding him up, a free hand clutching his hip, fingernails tight even through the fabric.

 

He's not about to argue.

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted to LJ comms, back in the day. If you read it back then, you'll notice I deleted a kinda gimmicky section about chess... Couldn't bring myself to edit it up to par, and it was just too bad to leave in.


End file.
